We have exchanged our green bodies
for rattling skeletons. Windy circles
pluck our bones, scatter
paper gems over kaleidoscope
carpets. They wax our veins
in tin cans, red brick crayons,
pin their prizes to icy boxes
with plastic letter magnets.
Icy boxes that remind
our exposed limbs of frosty
blankets and brittle suns; make
us ache for rebirth.
There is a lifetime of this.
We exhale their lungs, renew
lifeless breezes, still they forfeit
their pale bodies to window-
boxes shuddering, spitting :: plastic
ribbons, synthetic air.
We are not silent as we pour
cool pools of shade.
We are paraplegic.
Amanda J. Miller lives in Spencerport, NY and works at The College at Brockport. When she isn’t working nine to five, she spends her time soaking in language, art, and music. She strives to share her writing and her world with others and hopes to have her first collection of poetry published in the near future. Her work has appeared previously on Eunoia Review and on The Ghazal Page.
